


lover, we were made for each other

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Severus Snape, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: In a world where your soulmate’s first words to you are inscribed on your skin, theirs were quite unique.His read:Don’t, please.Hers:Avada Kedavra.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this idea last night and haven't stopped thinking about it since, so here we are. I couldn't think of a ship this would work well with, and also I didn't really want to do it to my otps, so it's with a poor nameless oc. Female because it's easier to differentiate between her and his.
> 
> Hopefully you like it!

The words are something he’s traced a million times.

They were simple, really. Small, black block letters; so familiar yet so strange.

He remembers when they’d first appeared. How the burn had felt, how he’d waited, watching for the sentence to complete itself. It hadn’t been what he’d expected, but he hadn’t really known what to expect.

Most people had simple greetings, things that blended into everyday life. _Hello. Nice to meet you. Excuse me._ Others had more individual marks, things that couldn’t be mistaken.

His is a mix of both.

 _Don’t, please_ , can happen in a number of scenarios, he knows. He thinks of them every time he sees the words; spends hours playing scenarios out in his head. Some are morbid – things he doesn’t want to think about but can’t seem to stop – others are more lighthearted.

He never can decide which he prefers. He’d always seen beauty in grotesque situations.

*

To live in fear of your mate is an odd sensation.

They were raised on fairy tales. Stories of princes and princesses. Of unconditional love. They were taught to believe in their soulmates; in the happy life they were meant to guarantee.

She remembers when the mark had appeared. It had burned her skin, had called her fingers to her wrist to scratch the flesh red raw. It itches even now, forces her to look at it. Think of it.

Her mother had cried. Sorrowful sobs that she hadn’t understood at the age of six. She hadn’t even known what the words meant then, just that they were funny sounding things.

At first she’d been happy that they were unique. Most people she knew had simple things, nothing that could compare to the _Avada Kedavra_ that stained her wrist. But then she’d grown older. Had discovered the horror of what they meant, of what her soulmate must have been.

She’d spent years thinking of it, playing out things in her head. She’d tried to fool herself. Tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t be what her mother feared; that it could be something else. The answer to a question. A statement in a conversation. Anything but _that_.

It’s what she would have preferred.

*

The decision has never been theirs to make, though. It isn’t a question preference, rather a matter of fate.

It happens at eighteen, during a raid. The instructions had been simple, really. Destroy the village, no survivors.

Behind him, a fire blazes; the air filling with smoke that covers the town. He can hear screaming coming from outside, agonised shouts that plague his dreams, accompanied by the joyful laughter of their own kind.

“This way,” a voice to his left says, and Severus follows, trudging through the remnants of a broken home. Bodies lie amongst ruins, the evidence of their activities. He chooses not to look.

They’ve almost left the house when a clatter sounds. Severus’ head whips to the side, dark eyes scanning the area. His wand is held tightly in his hand, the others taking a similar stance behind him.

Slowly, carefully, he steps towards where the sound had come from. Booted feet step over broken family photos, pushing personal items aside with no regard for their value.

He finds a body huddled in the corner of the hall, a small frame shaking visibly. The girl doesn’t look much younger than him, especially with the fear splayed across her face. Severus steps forward, his hand tightening the hold of his wand, and the girl whimpers quietly. Pushes herself back against the wall as if it would help.

“Don’t,” she says, voice barely more than a frightened exhale. “Please.”

Behind his mask, Severus’ eyes widen. His breath quickens, his hands twitch, his mark burns. He knows, immediately, what it means. Who she is.

His wand is still raised, pointed at her face. She repeats the words like a mantra, trembling hands reaching to grab the hem of his robe. He knows who she is, and he thinks she must know too.

He turns his head, sparing a glance to the others. They’re looking at him expectantly, waiting to leave. Aurors will be there any minute, he knows. Sirens could already be heard in the distance, the neighbouring muggle town coming to help. They have to leave.

Silently, Severus repeats the instructions to himself.

_Destroy the village._

He turns back to the girl, looks at her pleading face. The tears that stain her face. The house is starting to fall; the fire one of them had started reaching the roof. Smoke sweeps through the home; making his eyes sting even behind the mask.

He tightens his hold on his wad, knuckles going white.

He gives her one last look, his eyes meeting hers through the mask. She’s still pleading, the words barely comprehensible now.

In a level voice, he answers, “Avada Kedavra.”

_No survivors._


End file.
